I wanted her to talk about anything. Just the sound of her voice was captivating. It had a musical quality to it, like the rest of her. But if I shared that little fact, I had a feeling she’d drop a two weeks’ notice on my doorstep the next day. “I don’t know. It’s all interesting. How you’ve worked out such a self-sustaining system here.”

Shay glanced over her shoulder. She seemed to relax a bit at the focus being moved to the property as opposed to her. “It is pretty incredible. Most of it was in place before I got here. The solar panels and water filtration system. But having the coop and gardens has made a huge difference. The Dowds used to come for two weeks every Christmas, and they loved having fresh produce and eggs.”

“I’m sure. Did you always stay for the holidays? Didn’t go visit family or anything?”

Her hands stilled in their weeding for the briefest moment before she picked up the motion again. “Nope. I’m happy here.”

I understood it on some level. My relationship with my parents was one more akin to awkward strangers than family. My insurance-broker father never understood my need to express myself through art. And I was pretty sure my mother thought that all the black I’d worn in high school and me moving to New York when I turned eighteen meant that I was worshipping the devil.

I’d paid off their mortgage with my second big commissioned piece. And tried to email or call every few weeks. But the conversations were always forced. My friends had become my family. Carson, my brother. And Lara, a sometimes-annoying big sister who always thought she knew best.

I shook myself out of the trail of thoughts I’d gotten lost down. “Well, this is a good place to be.”

“You’re certainly right about that.” She tossed the weeds into a bucket on the ground. “So, why were you looking for me? Did you need something?”

“I had a question for you.”

“And that would be?” she asked when I didn’t say anything else.

I wasn’t sure exactly how to phrase what I wanted—no…needed to ask. Shay was clearly private, but that guarded air only made her more mysterious. It was catnip for someone like me. I needed to know what she was hiding away from the rest of the world. “Will you sit for me?”

She straightened and turned to face me, her brows pulling together. “There’s not really a place to sit in here.”

I chuckled. “No. Sit for me. In my studio. I need a model for a project I’m working on, and I think you’d be perfect for it.” Better to let her think that she was a fill-in as opposed to my source of inspiration.

Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Why?”